


The Dog & The Moth

by whorror_jpeg



Series: Originals. [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, God Complex, Gore, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Innocence, Kidnapping, M/M, Misogyny, Murder, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychopath, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychopaths In Love, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Violence, innocence kink, musical anhedonia, social crimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 03:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15986696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorror_jpeg/pseuds/whorror_jpeg
Summary: After coming in contact with a young boy, D’mitri Upshur becomes obsessed with him. Ten years forward, the boy is reintroduced to the mentally ill man, and D’mitri will go to all costs to make sure that the innocent boy is forever his.WARNINGThe following book speaks of graphic crimes, including but not limited to;Stalking, rape, violence, torture, murder, animal abuse and violence, and social crimes i.e. misogyny.This book may also refer to sexual intercourse.This book is intended for audiences sixteen and older, depending on your consent regulations per state/country. Reader discretion is highly advised.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> I had gotten the idea to write a criminal thriller in the eighth grade, only to get more ideas in my freshman and sophomore years. When I started, I didn’t know how this was going to be played out or what was going to come of it. I myself got overly excited, seeing five pages turn to seven, ten, twenty…  
> I’d always had a love for psychology, the human being as a whole, and religious symbolism. After studying some, I came up with what my book was going to be about, and proceeded onto it, titling it The Dog & The Moth after searching for three hours on what symbols meant what.  
> For Katlyn, who helped edit and gave opinions, and pushed me through with a “you better finish this” attitude.

The first time I saw you, you were so small. You had walked away from your mother in the farmer's market. The stupid woman didn't even notice. Your wide, sunken brown eyes welled with tears, as any ten-year-old would. But you knew better than to cry. It wasn't the thing to do in a state of panic. Oh, how I admired that.

I was nineteen at the time, just had been accepted into Harvard University, where I'd be studying philosophy and religion.

Either you were too young to be taught or your mother was stupider than she looked, perhaps both, but your innocence and need for help had so beautifully made you trust me. I could have taken you with me then and there, but it wasn't quite the time yet.

I walked behind to you, your back to me, and stopped right behind you. Your light brown hair falling loosely on your shoulders, more than likely in need of a haircut. I repulsed the urge to touch it, tug it, and instead tapped your shoulder. You turned and looked like the easiest prey a wolf could've snatched. Your eyes gleamed with fear and a tinge of hope at that single look is what really made me hunger for you.

I asked if you needed help.

You nodded.

I held out my hand and you took it gratefully.

_ Such tiny, childish, naive hands. _

The question was brought up if you knew where that old bitch was, to which you replied with, "At the meat market." I, however, already knew where she was.

She was looking for chicken in the wrong bird isle; _ the duck isle. _

I can't blame her, or anyone else for being so incredibly stupid, but honestly, woman, fucking try.

Your eyes lit up when you caught a glimpse of her dress: a black one with pink roses spotted all over it.

I asked if you were sure it was her, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, so I walked up to her, your  _ tiny  _ hand in mine, as I almost unwillingly let you out of my grasp.

Your mother made a sound of surprise and hugged you, thanked me, and walked away. 

That was the last time I'd see you for ten years and all I can remember is your sunken brown eyes, shaggy hair, your tiny hands, a scar on your eyebrow where hair would never grow, and your mother calling you by your name.

"Adam."


	2. Chapter One

It's late. Twenty-two past eleven, to be exact. I'm sitting at my desk, a cup of irished black on my right and entry papers on my right and entry papers on my left. Names passed.

Thomas Curtis.

Avery Duncan.

Lindsey Sturges.

Ashton Mahone.

And finally, Adam Miller.

He wasn't supposed to be in my class. He didn't sign up for it, at least. I set the paper aside before taking another look at the paper.

_ "Adam." _

That too sweet sounding voice ran its sound through my head. It was nothing, just a coincidence. I'd given that  _ practice  _ up. Still, I couldn't take my eyes off of it and I only now realized that I'd been staring at the paper for the last two minutes because it is now eleven-twenty-four and my contacts have now dried out.

What am I still doing here?

My shift was over, I've gone through the rest of the papers-twice now.

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face and got up out of my desk and going to the back room of my lecture hall. It was a place I had to be able to sleep without having to drive anywhere late at night.

There was a knock on my door. Nothing too startling, just a light rapping on the door.

"Come in," I mumbled.

"Hi, professor Upshur."

It was a girl no older than the age of eighteen.

"Yes?" I asked, putting the entrance papers in a file and holding the accidental paper.

"My dad was wondering why you were still here."

"Just got my paper's finished. I was going to go into my back room and sleep."

She nodded, "I've never seen someone sleep in their backroom before."

I shrugged, "It's not much. Now, if you don't mind, I have a class to teach tomorrow."

"Oh, uhm, okay. Goodnight, Mr. Upshur."

She walked out and closed the door.

I woke up with a start. My phone was going off with emails and texts, something I should be used to, but still wasn't.   
I checked it. The digital clock read eight-fifty a.m. I had an hour and forty minutes until my students came in. An hour and forty minutes until I'd figure out who I liked and who I loathed.   
The latter wasn't hard to make a reality, as I generally disliked most people.   
The human population was a disease that still continued to spread. No one ever took notice of its true reality besides the...  _ characters  _ locked in a mental ward and me. It was pitiful they had to be put down. They were such good candidates for the upbringing of a worldly revolution; a godly one.   
Though I don't believe in God. I believe that one has the power to become a god of His own once He successfully reaches the ultimate power of humanity. I lack doubt that the Great Ante Pavelic or King Hitler would have special places for the deeds they did.   
Perhaps not Hitler. There is no room in The Great Departure for cowards. Cowardice might as well be a plague too. How are you to be a god if you can’t do your fucking job because you were too scared of death from others that you greeted it with open arms when it came from your own hands?   
While I do believe the population is utterly revolting and that no one deserves the joy of living on this earth, there is room for innocence. That is, the purest thing of it. In the Christian bible, God had made Adam and Eve; the most innocent beings this world has known. They could walk together and lack any idea of what could go wrong. I love how easily innocence can be swayed.   
I was never fond of Eve, however. She was a stupid bitch who fucked the world.   
Some call me misogynistic. I call myself reasonable. Now, when females are still small and fragile,  _ that  _ is when they are the best, but still, I love males more so. If I’m desperate, yes. Little girls can be used as little boys, after all.

There was a knock on my door. With a quiet “come in”, I allowed the person to greet my presence as I sat at my desk.   
It was a male student, I could tell from the corner of my eye.   
“Class doesn’t start until nine-thirty.” I sighed, not looking up at the boy.   
“I know. I was placed here by accident. The Dean was wanting me to get my entrance papers from you if that’s alright.”   
I looked up at him.   
_ Sunken brown eyes, shaggy, dirty blonde hair, fragile, and slim hands, a scar on his eyebrow where hair would never grow… _   
My throat was dry when I asked him his name.

“Adam.”


	3. Chapter Two

I swallowed tightly.

“Adam, you say?”

Sweat dripped down my neck.

“Yes sir,” he gave a polite smile, “I’m sorry, have we met? You look vaguely familiar.”

“Perhaps we have. I can’t be too sure.”

_ Yes, we have _ , I thought.

“Do you know Bishop’s Market?”

“I do.”

“I knew it!” he laughed, “Ten years ago, I think, you helped me get back to my mom!”

I pretended to think, “Oh yes, I remember you now.”

Adam ran a hand through his hair and sighed happily.

“Thanks, by the way. Who knows how many people could’ve kidnapped me, right?” he laughed and held out his hand for me to shake. I took it.

“Have a nice day, Professor Upshur.”

I nodded and he laughed.

_ He left ten seconds ago. _

_ He left thirty seconds ago. _

_ He left a minute ago. _

He’s been gone for over five minutes and I’m still staring at the door, waiting for it to open, and when it does it’s nine-thirty and it’s not him, it’s multiple students.

They all calmly come in as I get up to write on the Epson whiteboard.

“Hey guys, I’m going to take attendance and then we’ll start.” I greeted them with a laid-back smile.

I had obtained seventy-four students this year, which was twenty-three more than last year’s class.

_ “Adam.” _

The students were relatively quiet. They asked questions that were actually logical.

_ “Adam.” _

Everyone left my first class.

_ “Adam.” _

I looked him up.

_ “Adam.” _

He’d asked to be Facebook friends. I accepted. 

He had a lot of friends. Two-hundred-eighty-two. He used to be in the Glee Club. He calls himself “the faggiest of the fags”. Adam went to some private school that celebrated the arts. He was highly artistic, his music, sketches, and paintings all proved it. He made posts dedicated to them.

_ Fuck _ , his voice was beautiful.

He lives in Gray County. He’s most definitely upper middle class, or humble and high class.

There’s a picture of him with his dog outside a one-story red and tan bricked home. The caption read “Goodbye, Papagi!” with a crying emoji.

The dog was a Chow-chow. Red fur and a face that looked like it got hit by a van.

_ Fucking ugly ass dog. _

I had a couple of dogs myself, a cat too. They weren’t ugly in the slightest bit.

I killed the family dog when I was eight. It was a small dog, an awful in-bred looking Shi-Tzu. She’d been hit by a car, I only finished the job. My younger ‘brother’ watched as I dropped a six-pound brick onto the dog’s head. Her blood splattered all over the freshly fallen and clean snow.

Jonathan, the little fucker, told the woman what I had done. She cried. Diane loved that awful looking dog, it was a disgrace to the world to keep it anyway.

She took me to a therapist, who asked me if I knew I was adopted. I didn’t until he told me. 

I questioned Diane in the car about it. When she didn’t answer, I yelled at her and took the wheel, which landed her in a tree and myself in the hospital for two weeks.

I looked down and rubbed my temples.

“You alright, Professor?”

I didn’t need to look up to know who was speaking.

“I am. Just stressed.”

I saw Adam smile from the corner of my vision, “The first and last month of a school year is always the most stressful.”

I looked up examined him as he pulled a chair.

“I saw your Facebook, by the way. Why don’t you have any family pictures?”

“Did you know a test in the UK proves that one child in every hundred will become psychopaths and start showing psychotic tendencies by age seven?” Adam looked baffled as I continued, “did you know that the one child is more likely to have been abused in their previous life, as well as an orphan?”

“What are you getting at, Professor?”

“Statistics,” I smiled, he in turn giving a breathy laugh, “I’m going to The Salad Bowl for lunch. Would you like to join me?” I asked, packing my messenger bag with files and papers.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Do you have the time?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Alright, as long as I’m back by two. My last class starts at three.”

And we left to the parking lot. Adam wanted to take the transit, but I suggested my car, as it was faster and free, save for gas money.

When we got into the car, he asked what music I like.

“I have something called musical anhedonia-”

“I’ve read about that. It’s where your mind can’t process music the way others can and doesn’t give your brain pleasure. It’s usually caused by a brain injury, yeah?”

I gripped my steering wheel and nodded.

“What happened?” He asked quietly, looking my way.

“My mother was well acquainted with whiskey when I was four.”

“Oh…” he went quiet. I looked at him and gripped his shoulder. 

“It’s alright, Adam.”

He looked down at his hands until we got to the buffet.

When we sat down, he still looked intently at his hands, which were clasped together on top of the table.

“What’s so interesting about your hands, Adam?”

His head snapped up, eyes fearful before he gave a breathy chuckle.

“I’m sorry.” He averted eye contact once again. I grabbed his hand and he looked up at me, eyes locking on mine.

“An apology doesn’t answer my question.”

His eyes shifted all over my face before stopping back at my own eyes, “I just-... I don’t know how to deal with things like that, Professor.”

“Oh?”

“Uhm, yeah. I mean, someone told me my aunt had ovarian cancer and I accidentally laughed.”

“Our brains compensate with uncomfortable situations and issues differently. I once had a student refuse to present in front of the class because he pisses himself when he speaks publically.”

Adam laughed,  _ Jesus Christ, it’s a beautiful laugh _ , “Well, I certainly don’t do  _ that _ . It’s just weird to see normal looking people and hear their awful backstories, ya know?”

I nodded even though I didn’t, “What is normality anymore? We hear about a bombing and immediately conclude it’s ISIS when it could just as easily be our own country or any place else.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, then looked down at our hands. He laughed a bit, “Your hands are cold.”

I smiled a bit and pulled my hand away, only Adam didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled my hand closer to his body, “It’s a good cold, though.”

“Someone told me they’re hands of the dead.”

He chuckled lightly, nervously, “they’re soft, too.”

_ Slim, fragile hands. _

“Are you flirting with me?” I asked jokingly.

_ Sunken brown eyes. _

He laughed and looked down quickly.

_ Shaggy, dirty blonde hair. _

He ran his free hand through his hair.

_ A scar on his eyebrow where hair would never grow. _

He looked back up, slightly raising his eyebrows.

“Would you be angry if I said yes, Professor?”


	4. Chapter Three

A week later, Adam had continued to visit me in between and after classes. Lunch was a regular thing, only we’d chose a different place to eat every time. For instance, today we decided to try an Asian restaurant that was known for its Lo Mein, while tomorrow, Adam wanted to try a burger and shake restaurant.

“How’s your classes been, D’mitri?”

I smiled lightly, “They’ve been alright, not much to talk about though.” He nodded, bringing his food to his mouth, “How’s your behavior class been?”

He hummed and furrowed his eyebrows. Swallowing, Adam looked to me, “It’s weird. You learn about things that people physically do unintentionally that connects to their psyche and emotions.”

“And what does my body language read to you?”

He looked surprised, maybe a bit nervous, as he subtly glanced over my face, then cleared his throat and looked down.

“You didn’t shave, meaning you’re confident no matter what you look like today. Your head is slightly tilted- you’re truly interested and invested in listening to me. Your- uh, your eyes shift to certain parts of my face and your pupils are dilated.”

“What does that mean, Adam?”

“I know you know  _ full well _ what it means.”

I looked at my watch, “It’s thirty ‘til. We should be heading back.”

When we arrived back to the school, Adam’s hand stopped me from getting out of the car and he stared at me before leaning in and kissing my cheek. I turned and took his chin in my hand and brought him close until, eventually, his bottom lip was between my own. At first, the act was small, unpracticed. His body leaning towards mine, we were both apprehensive, it was soft, and like him,  _ innocent _ , until it wasn’t. His hands moved to my hair, mine to awkwardly grip his waist, our bodies nearly against another, and soon, a curious hand slid up my shirt and scratched lightly at my chest. Adam was the one to break it. Lips red and kiss-swollen, eyes hazy, pupils dilated, and breathing heavy.

“You should get to class.” I breathed. Adam dipped his head and kissed my neck as he unbuttoned my shirt enough for him to later reach my collarbone. When he did, he  _ nipped  _ and  _ sucked  _ and  _ licked  _ at it, making sure there'd be a large purple mark there later to remind me of our acts.

“Adam.”

He let go and looked at me as he buttoned my shirt back up.

“I’ll see you after your next class.”

With that, he cheekily got out of my car.

* * *

“Hey, Upshur, did you hear about the kidnapping earlier this weekend?”

“I swear to God, Douglass if this is another dad joke-”

“No! Not at all,” he cut me off, “the Dean’s daughter. She went missing Wednesday.”

My brows furrowed, “Stephanie Gray, yeah?” 

“She was supposed to be going home, her friend said they saw someone pick her up.”

I gave a confused look, “They didn’t say who?”

“Some guy, they said.”

I hummed and continued stirring my coffee.

“Anyway, Upshur, what’re you doing this weekend? We were gonna go to the local bar.” Douglass announced. 

I waved him off, “I can’t. I’ve got a date.”

“Ooooh, is it Stacey?” he wiggled his eyebrows as I furrowed mine, someone laughed in the background.

“God, no.”

“That’s harsh, D’mitri.”

I shrugged and walked away.

* * *

 

To my surprise, the day passed uneventfully. I was grading papers when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” I mumbled, my temple resting in the palm of my hand. The door opened quietly.

_ Not Adam _ , I thought.

Hands rested on my shoulders and massaged the tight knots from them.

“You look tired, D’mitri.”

“Stacey, I am. It doesn’t excuse you to do this, though.” I sighed, rubbing the same hand down my face. She turned my chair around and straddled my lap. Her hands went down my chest and ran back up to play with the hair at the nape of my neck.

“Please,” she whispered as her face drew near to mine, her hips grinding down to mine and made me groan unintentionally, “don’t you want me?” She moaned.

“No,” I growled. Her head dipped to my neck and her hips dug into mine deeper.

“Why not?” She licked my jugular. I pushed her off angrily and fixed my tie.

“I have a date, Stacey. He’s waiting for me.”

Her face grew angry, “What are you, a faggot?”

“If it’ll get you to leave me alone, yes.”

She huffed and left quickly, bumping into Adam as he came in.

“That’s an intense glare, Professor.”

I sighed and looked down as Adam made his way toward me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I laid my head on his shoulder and put my hands on his hips.

“Do you wanna talk?” He asked, guiding one hand to the back of my head.

“No.”

“Okay, well, are you ready to go?”

I nodded and collected my things.

When we arrived at dinner, Adam was  _ very  _ handsy, to say the least- handsy not necessarily meaning he was using  _ just  _ his hands. In the car, we, admittedly awkwardly, held each other's’ thighs, only his preferred to travel up at stop lights. At the booth we’d gotten, sitting across from each other didn’t stop the insistent teasing from Adam. His foot traveled up and down my leg.

“Adam, I am warning you,” I whispered loosely.

“What are you gonna do,  _ punish me _ ?” he whispered back, teasingly.

“I’m thinking about it,” I growled as his foot reached my crotch. I smacked it and crossed my legs as the waiter arrived with our plates.

The entire time, Adam was teasingly licking his fork and riding his legs up against my own. When I dropped my napkin on the floor, he was palming himself under the table. The sight made me hit the back of my head against the table. When I was asking for the check, I hiccuped because of the recurring foot sliding up my leg  _ a lot higher _ than the last time and  _ holy fuck it was embarrassing to walk out of the restaurant as a grown ass man with a boner _ . We got to the car and I pushed him against the door,  _ hard _ . His hips were pinned by my own, both wrists stuck to his sides by my hands, our foreheads connected.

“Take me home,” he breathed, “Please.” His  _ sunken brown eyes _ looking at the green ones I bore, our eyelashes touching.

“Be a good boy while I’m driving and you won’t be disappointed.”

And he was. We got to my house and I was gentle. We undressed each other slowly, took our time, savoring each and every piece offered like it was a God-sent. Movements were slow, deliberate, drawn out. When I was inside of him, he looked me in the eyes until we both found our highs and kept the contact as I rode us through our orgasms. After, when I cleaned us off, we languidly kissed everywhere, shoulders, backs, faces, hands… Until we fell asleep.

* * *

“It’s okay, Stephanie, this’ll make the pain go away.”

She screamed as I injected her right forearm. No one besides myself could hear her, duct tape was in my luck. She looked at me with  _ sunken brown eyes _ , her eyebrow still bleeding. As soon as the liquid concoction of drugs reached the beginning of her bloodstream, she convulsed violently, blood seeping from her nose and attempting to through her mouth. She stopped and I checked my watch, two minutes and six seconds. I ripped the duct tape off of her pretty little mouth and tossed it elsewhere. Her naked body lay still in the chair, still tied to it as I kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight.”

I locked the basement door when I came back upstairs to get water. My cat brushed up against my leg as I went to let my dogs in, who patiently waited until I snapped at my feet. They followed as I went back upstairs, where I’d pull Adam close and he’d know _ nothing until later. _


	5. Chapter Four

“Morning, Gorgeous.” I smiled at him as his eyes opened.

“Morning.” He gave a chilled smile and threw an arm around my waist so he could better burrow in my chest. Zero, one of my dogs, perched his head on the mattress.

“When’d you let your dogs in?”

Zero gave a low growl as Adam reached to pet him. I quickly grabbed his wrist, “Let him smell you first unless you wanna lose a finger or two.”

Adam gave a confused look but did as I said. Zero’s trust was quickly earned, as seen when he nuzzled my lover’s hand.

“What breed are they?” He asked, eyes fixated on the dogs that had just climbed in bed with us.

“Zero is a Doberman Shepherd and Thirteen is a RottBull.” I trailed my fingers lightly along his naked body.

“Why numbers?” Adam gave an odd, entertained look as I cupped his face to kiss him.

“Both numbers are significant to my life. Thirteen was also born on Friday the thirteenth, thirteen days after Zero.”

He laughed and I pulled him on top of me. Adam sat up and ran hands over my slightly stinging, lightly tanned chest.

“You’ve got scratches on you.” He bent down and kissed along a trail of freckles on my face.

“I wonder who did that,” I said sarcastically. He sat up and shrugged playfully and I gripped his waist in a gentle but firm fashion.

“By the way, how does your morning breath smell better than everyone else’s,” He exclaimed, “I don’t get it!”

He bounced a bit, making the sheets fall just enough so I could see parts of his ass. My hands fell there and it got a gentle squeeze, making him squeal a bit.

“Chamomile tea then a peppermint before bed. Also helps with allergies and insomnia. Mouthwash works for bad breath too.” I smirked, causing him to hit my chest playfully.

“I figured that much, ass.”

“Language!” I joked, sitting up so I could kiss him again.

He sighed and bit my lip as I whispered, “Fuck, I love kissing you.”

“Language,” He shot back friskily and sat up, running his hands against my chest again. His expression turned apprehensive.

“What is it, sweetheart?” I asked, laying back down, rubbing his cheek with a knuckle.

“If you don’t have any plans, can I spend the day with you?”

“As long as you’ll spend it with me.”

Another quick and chaste kiss, “I need a shower.” I admitted.

“I’d join, but I have no other clo-”

“You can use mine. Please.”

He stared at me a bit before nodding. I hugged him, kissing his collarbone as he played with the hair at the nape of my neck, then I gripped under his thighs and picked him up, making him squeal. When I got to the bathroom and set him on the counter so I could start the water, he asked, “Why’d you let the dogs in?” while swaying his feet. 

“They were barking. Didn’t want the cops called,” I poured a small amount of bubbles in the water, “Get in, doll.”

He smiled and took my hand as we sat in the tub, I behind him, the warm water rising and his back against my chest.

“What color is your hair?” I asked amused. He laid back further and kissed my neck.

“Ash blonde, I guess.” He chuckled. We sat quietly for a moment before I pushed him forward and grabbed a wet hand towel, dragging it across the landscape of his back. He hummed in appreciation as I took the bar of soap and glided it from the water on his back to his shoulders, to his hairline, and rubbed the soap in with both of my hands.  
The rest of the day was carried out slowly and tentatively. We talked some, then didn’t comfortably, or, we read a book together, then watched a movie. We ate together, then each other. That is, until he wanted to leave.

“Have dinner first?” I asked, rather than told, knowing I’d get a better answer. He nodded shyly, and as dinner was being cooked, Adam excused himself to the bathroom.   
We sat together, at my table. Lights bright and inviting, the dogs laying in their corner beds.

“I never saw you as a man who liked other men, D’mitri.”

“I’m an open person.” I set my wine down after sipping it.

“I’d like to believe that, but you and I both know that’s a lie.”

I gave a confused look. 

_ He knows. _

_ No, he doesn’t. He couldn’t.  _

_ Yes, he does. He heard her last night. _

_ No, he didn’t. _

_ He doesn’t love you. _

_ Yes, he does.  _

_ You’ll never be a God. _

_ Shut the hell up. I can fix this. _

_ No, you can’t _

_ SHUT THE FUCK UP. _

“What do you mean?”

He sipped at his wine as I leaned back.

“You’re a very closed off person, D’mitri.”

I shrugged, “You could say I have trust issues.”

“But you opened up to me so easily.” He studied me.

“Because I love you.”

_ You fucking idiot. _

He went quiet and stared at me for a long time.

_ He’s gonna leave you. _

Adam shook his head, “You can’t say that.”

_ You’ll never see him again. _

“Oh, but I can,” I sat forward, elbows resting on the table, my chin in my hands, “I would do  _ anything  _ to keep your innocent little self all to myself. And I am.”

He widened his eyes, furrowed his eyebrows, and began to sway.

“I feel funny.”

“That’d be the Rohypnol.”

“The what?”

“It’s a date-rape drug. It can cause the body to do a number of things if a person is given the right amount. The amount you have flooding your systems right now is going to make you black out soon."

He slurred his words- elongated them, “How?”

“Your wine, dove,” I say nonchalantly, gently.

He looked down at it before his head collided with the table. I stood, smiling, picked him up, and took him to the basement and laid him down on the bed, tying his arms and legs to the posts.

_ Told you, Ivan. _


	6. Chapter Five

Adam woke with a start, his inability to see made him panicky.

“Adam, calm down.” 

I was sitting directly in front of him, reaching for the tie over his eyes.

“You fucking wish!”

A loud sound resonated through the basement and I didn’t understand what it was until he yelped and my hand stung.

I was standing over him… looming. A handprint beginning to mark its territory. I quickly bent down and cupped his face, “Baby, I’m so sorry, Ivan told me to do it and-”

“Who’s Ivan?”

I froze and stared at him, “No one, just be quiet, okay?”

He nodded as a tear bypassed the tie and slid down one of his cheeks.

“Why are you crying, dove?” I asked, wiping the tear away before standing back up. Adam stuttered out an “I’m scared” before shakily inhaling.

“I know. This was the only thing I could do. You would’ve left me otherwise, and I can’t lose you again, Adam.”

“Again? D’mitri, I was  _ nine _ , and-”

“And I should’ve taken you there, I know-” I chuckled.

“No, you fucking _predator_ , you should’ve left me the hell alone.”

I frowned angrily, “Don’t say that.”

There was a long pause before he whispered, “You never told me why there aren’t any pictures of your family.”

“Why would you wanna know that?”

“We’ll be here for a while, right? I just thought-”

“Fine,” he nodded, waiting for me to continue, “I was born to a Russian prostitute who tried aborting me by using a coat hanger because my father ‘rapped her’,” I laughed, “Can you even rape a prostitute?” he just sat silently.

_ Glad he’s blindfolded, huh? Admit it. _

_ Yes, now let me finish. _

“We moved here and at four I was taken away by CPS after complaints, then given to an impotent family. My adoptive father died two years later and when I was around eight or so, I killed the old bitch Diane, and was sent to multiple foster homes ‘because an eight-year-old would never do that.’ I’m not much of a family man.”

“Can I look at you?” he asked quietly in the silence that followed my backstory. 

“No,” Ivan answered.

“Shut up.” I hissed, grabbing my head.

“D’mitri, is that Ivan?”

I sighed, “yes.”

“Is he why you won’t take the blindfold off?”

Ivan laughed, “D’mitri doesn’t want you to see  _ it _ .”

“I said shut up!”

Ivan stopped talking,  my head was pounding.

“I’m sorry about him, love. He can be insensitive at times.”

Adam nodded before speaking, “What don’t you want me to see?”

My jaw clenched and unclenched before I pulled a free chair and sat as close to him as I could. The corner of his lip was bleeding from me hitting him.

“I must’ve hit you hard.”

I leaned in and kissed him, only he yanked his head back and let out a sob.

“I’m a bad man, Adam, a really,  _ really  _ bad man. I don’t mean to be,” I put my palm to his temple and rubbed my thumb across his eyebrow, “How’d you get this little thing?” I asked, touching the thin scar on his brow.

“A cat attacked me and one of its claws got stuck.”

“And are you scared of them?”

When he didn’t answer I grabbed his jaw harshly and brought his face closer to mine, “ I asked you a fucking questi-”

“Yes! I’m terrified of them, Goddammit!”

I let him go with a ‘good’ before leaving up the stairs.

* * *

When I came back an hour later, Adam was still and quiet. I approached him, petting his hair before pulling his chin up.

“Adam?” 

He hummed.

“I need you to keep your arm still, can you do that?”

He nodded. I grabbed his loose wrist with tight arms and squeezed it, slipping an IV needle in his vein.

“This’ll keep you nice and healthy, okay?” I said bandaging the needle down.

“Why are you doing this?” he choked out in a whispering half-sob.

I cupped his jaw, “Shh, dove, you’re okay. We’ve got a special something for you.”

“We? You don’t mean Iva-”

“Shut up and watch, Jesus fuck!” I snapped, turning his chair around to the other wall and took the tie off his eyes. He squinted when the light made contact with the bright fluorescent light of the room before looking up at me with painfully glassy eyes.  
I walked over to the table in front of him, “ Adam, do you know what’s in this bag?” I asked, holding a burlap sack. He shook his head. By the scruff of its neck, I pulled the cat out of the bag, “He’s awake now!”

“D’mitri, please don’t do this,” he begged.

“I am  _ sacrificing  _ my own fucking cat  _ for you _ , Adam!” he sobbed as I picked a syringe from the table, “Wanna know what’s in this?” I didn’t give him the option to answer, “it’s a handy little tool called succinylcholine, which is a fancy word for a major paralytic.”

Adam sobbed as I injected the paralytic in the feline and let it take its course through the cat’s body. The cat mewled lowly as I picked up a knife and brought it towards its paws before digging the blade into the would-be ankle. Adam yelled as the cat’s paw fell into a bucket after I tossed it and moved on to the next paw, “See, Adam,” I started, cutting into the bone, moving to the next once again, “I just don’t understand Egyptians. They worshiped these things, and here it is, succumbed to a _human_.” I laughed, disposing of the other paw and moving to the last, “Humans are only on the second level of the trophic pyramid, right next to things like grasshoppers.” I finished off the last foot and moved to the bloodied gray tail. The cat’s voice made a reappearance as I flipped it on its back and opened it up from its crotch to its throat, where the last breath of the cat was taken and it ultimately died.   
I looked at Adam, who was vomiting over the arm of the chair. He was dry heaving, sweat dripping down his skin as I made my way to him.

“Are you still scared of cats, Adam?”

He snapped his eyes up to meet mine, his head dragging slower than his eyes to do the same, “Is that what that was about? So I won’t be scared of  _ fucking  _ cats?”

“Are you?”

“No, D’mitri! I’m scared of _you!_ ” Adam yelled. I sighed and squatted next to his seat, “Adam, are you aware that psychopathic children tend to wet the bed, act their fantasies out on animals, and develop fetishes at young ages? Psychopathy can be traced to biology, childhood, and relationships. I know full well I scare you. I was made to be the way I am, just as you were made to be scared of people like me. It’s a predator-prey situation. I am literal textbook criminal psychology.”

“Then the police won’t have a problem finding you.” he all but growled.

I gave a short laugh, “I could tell them where I was and they wouldn’t have _shit_ on little ol’ me.”

“How do you know?” A tear slipped down his cheek.

“Do you honestly think this is my first time doing this? I mean, they haven’t even found the _others_.” I gave a pity laugh and walked up the stairs.


End file.
